


Dipped in Gold

by Emptynarration



Series: Winged AU [1]
Category: Youtube RPF, Youtube egos
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Wings, Author turns into Host, Backstory, Blind Character, Blindness, Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Career Change, Choking, Coma, Confusion, Discovery, Eye Gouging, Eye Trauma, Family, Family Dynamics, Gen, Injury, Minor Character Death, Murder, Name Changes, Passing Out, Self-Discovery, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sick Character, Strangling, Unconsciousness, Violence, Wings, clipped wings, everyone likes author deal with it, forced wing clipping, temporary coma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 06:11:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21471343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emptynarration/pseuds/Emptynarration
Summary: A terrible migraine had plagued him for weeks now. He wasn't sure why, or what it meant.What it meant, was a character was able to take him by surprise, tying him to the ground and gifting him blindness.Getting to the others, the manor, their family, was his only hope.
Series: Winged AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547701
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	Dipped in Gold

He had a headache. His skull was throbbing, his eyes hurt, and he was sure he had a migraine. Groaning, Author set down his pen, pressing the balls of his hands into his eyes, leaning back in his chair. Why did he always have to suffer? It was unfair, that's what it was.  
The bulletwound in his back still hurt like a bitch; mostly because he couldn't take care of it. But he's been fine, so he hadn't wanted to go to the manor to get help from their doctor. He could go, but, he also didn't think it was necessary. He mostly didn't want to fly there, nor walk for like, a full day.

His wings fluttered, and he sighed, moving one and lowering his hands, picking on the feathers. He wasn't good at grooming them, though he did pick at the loose feathers. The ground was littered with the light brown feathers now, the feathers being half dark brown on the bottom. Like the light brown feathers were dipped in a darker brown.  
More feathers were added to the ground, and once Author was done picking at them, he ran his fingers through them to straighten them a little, enjoying the soft texture. It didn't help his migraine, but, the action was still calming.

Author sighed, dropping his hand, leaning back in his chair as he let his wings just lay pretty much limp. They were _big_, the wingspan of one wing alone being longer than Author was tall -and he was _tall_. He liked his wings though, because they could help keep him warm, and they were strong, so he could fly rather fast.

He grabbed his pen again, rubbing his eyes once more, before he went back to writing. He couldn't focus properly, but, he tried his best. He couldn't just stop where he was after all, he had to finish his work. Then he could perhaps take a break.  
Sadly, Author's character didn't want to cooperate like he wanted them to. They were rebellious, they went against what he wrote whenever they could and argued with him -which was more than annoying. It didn't help his headache either, but, he supposed he should get that stupid character here and teach them a lesson. So, he wrote them into his forest, before grabbing his bat and going on his way. He knew where they were and where they would go after all.

Author found them soon. Silently appearing behind them, and raising his bat to hit them in the back of the head. Awfully familiar, he had done the same not so long ago. Oh well, he picked his victim up and brought them back to his cabin, intend on beating some sense into them.

Once in the cabin, he set them down on the chair, fully intend on tying them up, but his migraine decided that it didn't want that, and instead stabbed his brain and eyes with pain, making Author gasp and take a step back.  
“Fucking... stop..”, he grumbled, unhappy about it. Why couldn't it just leave him alone? Maybe he'd go to the manor just to get some painkillers.  
He couldn't think with this amount of pain, groaning as he made his way to the kitchen. Maybe he still had some? He just needed something to help this awful headache, he couldn't do shit like this.  
He felt dizzy it was so bad, needing to sit down at the table, burying his head in his arms. His head _hurt_, and it was a stabbing pain behind his eyes too, and he started to feel more and more nauseous as he just waited it out. He hoped it would leave soon, he didn't have all the time in the world to just sit around and do nothing.

When he tried to stand up, he almost threw up, and decided to sit down again. Alright. He'd wait it out then, and hope it would end soon.

Unfortunately, he fell asleep sitting at the table,his head throbbing with pain and everything making him feel sensitive, and his nausea... He just couldn't help but fall asleep, or rather, passing out.  
Unfortunately, he had a very pissed off human in his home though, just a room away, who woke up while he was asleep. Said human woke up confused, with a throbbing head, and disoriented. They quickly remembered what had been going on, and discovered that they had been kidnapped -but not tied to the chair? What the fuck?

They stood up, looking around the room and slowly walking around, taking in the scene, before leaving their room. Their wings were small, just enough to carry them and fly, so they fit comfortably against his back. They ruffled slightly when they coughed from all the dust gathered here.  
Finding some large scissors, they decided to arm themselves. They had seen the bat too, but upon testing, it was _far_ too heavy for them to pick up. They wondered how the hell Author could pick that up. But, that was besides the point. For some reason, he had forgotten about them, and they were going to take advantage of that.

Slowly walking through the hallway, they heard the sound of quiet mumbling. Following it as quiet as possible. They discovered Author... asleep? Well, if that wasn't just a wonderful coincidence. The smirked as they walked up to him, carefully moving close to his back. Good thing he was half laying on the table, which showed his wings really nicely.  
With an evil grin, they used their scissors to carefully cut off his feathers. Just like clipping a bird's wings, they cut off all of the primary flight feathers. And then the secondaries. And they cut them nicely down right to the coverts. There was no way he could use them again like this, and they cackled quietly.  
Sadly, it was also the moment Author stirred, waking up, and they took a cautious step back. Author's wings ruffled, and he sat up straight, rubbing his eyes.

They took another step back, wincing when they stepped on something sharp, and immediately Author's attention snapped to them, and they looked frightened for a moment, before they got their confidence back and steeled their expression.  
They lunged for Author with the scissors, and Author quickly dove from his chair to the ground, fumbling to grab his pen.  
“Oh no you won't!”, they tried to stab Author with their scissors, Author quickly grabbing the chair to shove against them, making them yelp and stumble backwards.  
Author managed to get his pen, and quickly began writing on his arm -and immediately the scissors were gone out of their hands.  
“Fuck you!”, they screamed, climbing over the chair and the table and threw themselves at Author, making the man give a startled sound when he was suddenly tackled to the ground. Immediately they tried to grab the pen, hitting Author's wrist to get him to drop the pen, and Author grabbed for their throat in return.

The two struggled a little, before Author had them underneath him and was choking them, and they were scratching at his arms. Panic filled them as they weren't getting any air, Author squeezing their throat tightly, breathing heavily. His migraine was making it hard to concentrate, and the only thing he had to focus on was squeezing his hands, and that he could do at the very least.  
When their hands finally fell away from his arms, he continued for just a while longer, because he needed to make sure they were dead. When he finally let go, he whimpered, sitting down on the ground and pressing his hands against his eyes. They _hurt_. God did they hurt. He hated it. He wasn't sure _why_ they hurt, but he supposed a migraine did that.

He felt nauseous, his head was spinning even though he was sitting down, and his head throbbed. He couldn't focus a single thought behind the pain, and he didn't want to pull his hands away again. Everything hurt, and he felt like the pressure helped. It probably didn't, but his hurting mind was saying it _did_, and he just wanted that pressure inside his skull _gone_.

He gasped, feeling strange warm mush beneath his fingers. He could feel his hands against his cheeks, but his fingers... he desperately clawed at his eyeballs, breathing heavily, pulling out everything of his eyes he could, blood running down his cheeks. He was in pain, his head felt like it would explode, and he needed to let that pressure out somehow, somehow, get his hurting eyes out of the way and let his head pop like a balloon.  
He felt sick, in so many ways, and bloody hands scrambled for the sink and pulling himself up, gagging and retching as he was overwhelmed with nausea, the scent of blood making it all worse. His wings fluttered, and he didn't even notice they had been horribly cut down.

He gasped, shaking where he stood, in pain and confused and not knowing what to do. All he felt was pain, he couldn't see anything, and he was feeling sick. He needed- he needed _help_.  
The manor. Doctor Iplier. Dark- they could _help_. He stumbled when he took a step away from where he had held onto the counter, slipping on the feathers laying on the ground, making him yelp when he fell down. He whimpered slightly, pushing himself, feeling the feathers beneath him.  
“What-?”, he was confused, he was hurting, and his wings fluttered again, ruffling, and Author wasn't sure if he could feel his wings having barely and feathers anymore or not.

He dragged himself out of the kitchen, feeling dizzy. But he had to get out. He had to get to the manor. He had to go get help. Blood was dripping from his eyes, mush still inside of them, but he didn't care, he was in pain, he couldn't see, he needed help he needed someone to help him.

Author stumbled through the forest, unable to see anything. He had walked this path so many times that he knew where to go, but being blind still made it a lot harder. He walked into trees, his wings flapped and ruffled a lot whenever he stumbled over roots or dirt or something or other, and he knew his wings were definitely missing feathers now because they didn't do really anything to help keep him upright. He couldn't focus on that though, because he needed to get to the manor.  
Tripping and falling was honestly the worst. He landed in the dirt, on branches and rocks that hurt him, and he was pretty sure he got dirt somehow on his face as well, though he wasn't certain. He hoped not, he just needed to get to the manor and get help.  
Sadly, it took time to get to the manor from his cabin; about most of the day. Of course flying was much faster, but neither could Author fly at the moment, nor could he see where he'd be going either.

After just a few hours Author collapsed, feeling too weak, too nauseous, too dizzy, to continue. He curled up beneath a tree, wings wrapping around him even though they barely able to keep him warm or protected now.

He had no idea how long he was passed out, he had no idea where the sun was or where exactly he was. He still felt incredibly sick, his head was throbbing with pain still and his eyes were dripping with blood still somehow, but he didn't care too much. He cared about being in pain, and needing help, and figuring out what even happened to him because _he didn't remember_.  
So he continued his slow stumble through the forest, hoping he would make it to the manor. He knew vaguely where it was, but the more he walked, the more unsure he became, and the less he thought he'd get out of this okay. But he didn't give up, because by now he probably wouldn't find home either, and he had no pens with him anymore either. He hadn't thought to get one before leaving.

After hours of stumbling and walking and falling, eventually, he found the edge of the woods. He stayed silent, standing still, breathing hard as he tried to listen. Listen to the sounds of the manor, of the egos, of anything or anyone.  
He heard it, faintly, beneath his breathing. The manor. The quiet underlaying sound of magic and powers of all the egos -but mostly Dark he supposed.

He made it.

He was tired, he felt incredibly sick, blood dripping from his chin and to his already bloody and dirty shirt. But he made it, he found the manor, and he could _finally_ get help. The help he needed.  
So he carefully and quietly -as quiet as he managed- made his way to the manor. Listening to it, so he could find it, and he couldn't help the soft sob when he found the door. He was here. He made it. He regretted a little living alone so far away from the others, but at least he got here.

He opened the door, almost collapsing immediately again, stumbling as he stepped inside and leaned heavily against the wall. He was just lucky someone was in the nearby common room who heard it and came to investigate. And the one who found him was... Dark.

“Author?”, there was clear shock in Dark's voice, that much Author could tell, as he held his arms wrapped around his middle, slightly hunched over, breathing heavily and blood dripping from his face.  
“Holy shit- what happened?”, Dark rushed towards Author, wings fluttering as he took in his hurt state, immediately noticing how _small_ Author's wings looked, and seeing how all his primary and secondary flight feathers were missing. He looked terrible, dirty and bloody and scruffed up -but the worst truly were his eyes. Clearly missing, dripping with blood, and just... it looked _bad_.  
“I... I don't know..”, Author muttered, and he seemed close to passing out.  
“What do you mean you-”, Dark sighed, deciding that wasn't important. He picked Author up, the man leaning against Dark with closed eyes -which barely helped the gruesome sight, since his face was covered in blood and dried... gore.

Author's breath was wheezing, he looked awfully pale, and Dark was getting more worried by the second as he hurried through the hallway and to Dr Iplier's.  
“_Iplier!_”, Dark's voice echoed through the hall, and immediately Edward appeared, of course on high alert since _Dark_ had called him.  
“What-”, he started, before he already noticed the bloody Author in Dark's arms, and immediately he swore, hurrying with Dark to his clinic, where Dark set Author down on the examination table per instruction.  
“What happened?”, Edward asked, as he slowly and carefully opened one of Author's eyes, immediately grimacing. Author had passed out by this point already, which was worrying the doctor a lot.  
“I have no idea. He said he didn't know when I asked before passing out.”, Dark replied, and Edward nodded lightly.

“I have no clue what he did... but judging from his bloody fingers..”, Edward inspected them, seeing -besides dirt- blood and other tissue.  
“Great.”, Dark sighed, running a hand through his hair as he watched Edward wipe Author's face clean first, before starting on his eyes. Getting every last bit of tissue out, before cleaning them properly. Dark left sometime during the process, to go inform Wilford and King that Author was hurt and here with them for at least the time being. Of course they were worried, but no one was supposed to go disturb Edward or Author while in the clinic.  
Edward bandaged Author's eyes with enough bandages and pads and _tightly_ to make sure that they would stop bleeding soon, hopefully. They should, at the very least.

Edward proceeded to clean the rest of Author, get him a change of clothes, and then take care of the fever Author had gotten. No wonder he was so pale and trembling, he was sweating and burning hot. He did all he could, but there really wasn't much he could do. He gave him the blood-tranfusions he needed; mostly because he found out apparently this man was haemophilic, and had probably almost bled out.  
Dark had spend some time grooming what was left of Author's wings; his own wings were dark grey in colour, though his aura gave the feathers blue and red outlines, making them appear more colourful than they really were. The feathers were gruff, and not feeling as soft as they probably should. His wings were broken, mostly hanging down and dragging over the ground, unless he actively tried to keep them folded against his back. Most of the time, it hurt far too much, so he had a... thing, that helped keep them comfortably -as comfortable as possible- against his back. He knew Author's wings weren't hurt like his, but seeing them so limp as he was sleeping was... awfully close.

Edward was helping making the clipping more even, even though he couldn't do much else. It was something. He's never had clipped wings. His wings weren't that huge, though big enough to be comfortable to fly with. The short little feathers were a light blue, the long feathers were half white, and half blue, though the top edge of the white was faded blue a little. The blue side had white stripes, and the tip of the feather was black. They were really soft, and Edward made sure to groom them regularly. He liked being proper, though he was more than aware that Author was a total opposite. The man never seemed to groom his wings.  
In the end, all they could do for his wings was to wait. They would have to wait for him to molt, and that could take a long time. Especially since the feathers had to grow too until it Author's wings were actually useful again.

And after it was all said and done, it was just... waiting. His fever didn't seem to get better, and he wasn't waking him either. Edward suspected he might be in a coma, which worried him greatly, but all he could do was take tests to see what caused it, and how to help him. Mostly he just tried to get his fever down, and make sure he could enough fluids and such, hooking him up to machines until all he truly could do was wait anymore.  
Dark and Wilford came by now and then, checking in on Author. Wilford liked to talk and talk to the sleeping man, while Dark usually just sat next to the bed for a while, before leaving again.  
Even King peeked in some time. He looked uncomfortable, wings fluttering, fidgeting in place as he stood there and just... looked. He felt out of place, he wasn't sure how to deal with this. He just.... he felt bad. Author was a part of their family, and he kept the forest safe in which most all of King's squirrels lived. And he was there a a lot too, so he kept him safe too pretty much.

A week passed. Author's fever was slightly going down, which Edward was glad for -finally something good. He still hadn't woken up a single time, but Edward hoped he would soon. Everyone was worrying over him greatly; Edward had noticed a strand of the writer's hair was growing out blond?

The second week passed. Author's fever was still there, but it wasn't in any dangerous levels anymore. He was still not okay though, and he still hadn't woken up, and Edward was still really worried. He supposed a person in a coma wouldn't wake easy. It was probably the shock that kept him asleep, from losing his eyes. The blond kept growing out, and Edward felt like it was overtaking the already brown hair.

At the end of the third week, Author stirred. Edward was there for it, noticing movement and quiet sounds, and immediately hurried over. He didn't seem to be waking up fully yet, but he was getting there, and Edward had high hopes. Sadly though, Author didn't wake today. But, it was process! The blond streak had taken over most of its strand by now, and generally Author's hair had grown some. Edward wondered if he'd cut it -or let someone cut it- when he was awake.

Just in the beginning of the fourth week, almost a whole month now, and Author really woke up finally. Edward was sitting by his bedside, having just taken a break from other things and keep watch of Author, when the man stirred, groaning.  
“Author?”, Edward spoke softly, gently taking his hand to hold onto it, watching the man as he stirred and groaned, fingers twitching. He squirmed slightly, moving his free hand up to lay over his eyes, making a soft sound Edward couldn't really place an emotion to.  
“W...what..?”, Author's voice was scratchy, hoarse, and it hurt to speak.  
“No need to talk, I'll get you some water.”, Edward said softly, gently squeezing Author's hand before standing up, going to fetch Author a glass of water.  
“You've came here with your eyes scratched out and covered in blood, stumbling in here with blood and dirt covering you, and not able to tell us what happened.”, Edward explained, walking back over then and carefully raising Author's bed slightly so he could sit up a little easier, before he helped him sit up. He gave him the glass in both hands, and he helped him raise them so he could drink, helping him support the weight of the glass when it seemed Author couldn't by himself.

“You still have a fever, and I'm keeping you on that drip for the time being as well. And I've found your eyes don't want to stop bleeding for some reason, but they're not infected or anything.”, Edward continued as Author drank, setting the glass away once he was done.

“I'm... blind.”, Author said quietly, and Edward smiled weakly; “Yeah.”.  
“And... my eyes are gone.”, Author was slowly trying to assess everything, his migraine still making his head throb. He would've hoped it was gone, but it did seem a little less bad. Edward hummed in confirmation, nodding lightly.  
“What's- what's with my wings?”, he asked then, because usually when he laid in bed, or was sitting, he could feel the long feathers brushing against whatever was beneath him or behind him. He could barely feel anything from his wings.  
“They appeared to be badly clipped when you came here. Uneven bad cuts, and both primaries and secondaries.”, Edward replied softly. It was nothing he's ever seen, and it was almost scary. Especially with how massive Author's wings were.  
“Oh.”, Author's wings shifted, ruffling slightly, and he could feel how they had been mutilated. It didn't make him feel any better.

“I... need time.”, he said softly then. He couldn't wrap his head around this. Anything. It was really hard to focus and concentrate, and his head was swimming.  
“Of course.”, Edward gently held Author's hand, hoping he could offer some sort of comfort.  
“Can you remember what happened to you?”, Edward asked softly, and Author lightly shook his head. He really couldn't remember, he had no idea what had happened.  
“That's okay.”, Edward said softly, letting Author lay back down, the man curling up on his side, holding onto Edward's hand with both of his.  
“Also, you've.. been asleep for just over three weeks.”, Edward said softly. He'd rather tell Author everything now, than not tell him now but later. He knew Author was overwhelmed more than less, but if he told him later he'd just get surprised and need more time to get his head around it again.  
“Oh.”, was all Author could reply, and Edward didn't know what else to say. He just held Author's hand, letting the other man think, expression unreadable behind his bandages.

When Author let go of Edward's hand, he pulled it back. He's got some work to do, he had to both check all the machines, but also he needed to go tell Dark that he had woken up as well.  
Edward left Author after a few minutes of sitting there and making sure he was okay, not wanting him to feel bad or alone or something. And if he needed him still, he would've had time to tell him.

They gave him time. Author obviously didn't feel like anything, so they gave him time to get used to the fact he was blind. His migraine was still bad, and his thoughts were racing most of the time, and he wanted to write them down. But he couldn't, because he couldn't see it anymore, and he couldn't reread it anymore. Maybe he could still try. Why not? He could get help from someone probably. He didn't know who, since no one really had a lot of time usually, but...

He needed a few days. He didn't really get used to it, but he... got used to it. He started to be okay with the thought of blindness, at least enough that he could bring himself to actually function.  
Edward helped Author when he first got out of bed, helping him get around and giving him tips. He didn't know a lot about blindness, of course, but Edward _was_ a doctor dealing with a lot of different patients. So he tried helping Author with his new blindness, and Dark organized something for Author to learn braille, and somehow managed to get one of Author's books transcribed into braille for him to train with -because Author knew his books inside out, pretty much, so it'd help him know the letters.  
It helped, making Author feel more comfortable and in control. He had his book, one of his, and he quickly got used to the braille letters. He got more papers from Dark with different braille writing to learn with on his own, which was nice. Author greatly appreciated it.

Mostly, Author stayed in his library. Technically the library of the manor, of course, but he had his room connected to it -and to the hall, for practical purposes. He practised reading braille, and writing blind. But, it just didn't want to work out like he wanted it to.

Sometime, the Jims came back. They had been out for a few weeks for some special they wanted to make, and came back during May. Of course they were very quick to find out that Author was here, and that something had happened to him, and they went off to investigate.  
The two were going to the library, because they've been told Author stayed there most of his time. He came out for breakfast and dinner together, but mostly he did have to be told -he had never been good at taking care of himself, so it wasn't surprising, really.  
Once reached, they opened it, walking inside. Author was at his desk, and he seemed rather frustrated. Trying to write, but he _knew_ he wasn't doing a good job, he could feel his pen scratch on the wood when he missed the paper, making him frustrated.

“Writer Jim!”, Jim called, and the two Jims walked over to Author. Of course, with camera and microphone, as ever recording as they did. They loved that they had a lot of moments and memories recorded and saved.  
“What?”, Author snapped, throwing his pen harshly on the desk, before turning in his chair, arms tightly crossed. His bandages had soaked through a little, but thankfully, the Jims had been informed about it.  
“Jim and Jim wanted to check up on their fellow Jim, Jim.”, Jim replied, and Jim nodded, the two of them respectively filming the conversation, as they did most of the time.  
“I'm fine. Leave me alone.”, Author muttered, crossing his arms tightly. He'd taken to wearing his sleeves down instead of pushing them up now; had been pretty much since he's been alone in his room, instead of in the clinic. No one was really paying much attention to that, though. They did know he got cold somewhat easily.

“Writer Jim did not seem fine at all.”, Jim said, crossing his arms, narrowing his eyes at Author, who huffed in reply.  
“I'm _fine_.”, he growled, and Jim scrunched up his nose, Jim shaking his head.  
“Jim! Jim is being very uncooperative.”, Jim said, and Jim nodded in agreement.  
“Fuck off you two. I have better to do.”, Author muttered, turning back to his desk. He _almost_ seemed defeated, which made the Jims look at each other. They were used to him being angry at them, whenever they bothered him writing, but never... like that, they supposed.  
“Alright Jim. Jim, we'll leave Jim alone for now.”, Jim told Jim, and Jim nodded. Together they left the library again then, talking. It was weird. Author was weird. Maybe his new blindness was still bothering him greatly.

The more time passed, the more Author seemed to change. He slowly started not to come to breakfast with the others, often times being found passed out at his desk or in his armchair with his braille book in hands. A lot of the time his bandages were soaked through at that point, and Edward had learned after waking Author once to clean and change them, to just do it as the man slept and leave him in peace.  
At dinner, he got quieter and quieter, often barely talking at all. It concerned the others, but when they asked, Author just said he wasn't feeling like it, or didn't have anything to say, or that he was fine. Dark didn't like this change, but he couldn't stop it either.

He did, however, go and saw Author in his library at one point. He was worried, and he just wanted to talk with the other.

Dark entered the library, hearing quiet mutters from Author. He looked to be on his desk, doing something or other with both arms on the table. Perhaps he was trying to write again. He didn't deem it necessary to announce his arrival, mostly because Author seemed pretty focused, and he had never liked being interrupted before. So he walked up to the other man, intend on standing by his side to watch and make himself announced softly then.

“What are you doing!”, Dark's eyes widened and he grabbed Author's hand gripping a razor blade, his right arm laying on the table and blood dripping from it from multiple cuts. And his arm was _littered_ with just scabbed over ones, some older and some likely from a day or two ago.  
_That's why he wore long sleeves now_.  
“Leave me alone.”, Author muttered, as Dark plucked the blade from Author's hand. There was no real bitterness in his voice, only pain, and Dark felt terrible. This had hit him so much harder than they could've thought, Author's wings drooped and dishevelled.  
“Author...”, Dark let go of Author's wrist, looking pained. They really hadn't noticed Author had been hurting so much?  
Author grabbed tissues from his desk's drawer, patting at his bloody arm.  
“Why did you?”, Dark asked, voice soft. He didn't want to seem pressing, or to upset Author further.  
“My whole purpose is _gone_, Dark.”, Author replied, sounding bitter. “I should be writing. I should make books, _stories_. And now I'm _nothing_. I can't _fucking see_.”. His voice started to shake, pressing the tissue harder against his arm than necessary, most likely so it hurt.

“You're not nothing, Author. You're still you.”, Dark said, laying a gentle hand on Author's hand, making him flinch slightly.  
“Can't really be an _author_ if I can't _fucking. see._”, Author muttered, loosening his grip on his arm, and Dark looked sadly at him. He could understand his pain, to some degree.  
“It'll be fine. You're still you, and you're still a part of our family.”, Dark said softly. Author leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms loosely, head slightly hanging. He looked genuinely sad, and Dark ached for him. He gently laid his hand on his shoulder then, moving it lightly.  
“You should let Iplier look at that.”, Dark said softly after a minute, and Author tensed slightly, before shaking his head. His bandages were soaked too.  
“I have bandages here. It's fine.”, he muttered. Dark too a deep breath, sighing, but relented.  
“Go to him if it doesn't heal right at least.”, Dark asked, and this time, Author relented, nodding lightly. He moved to grab bandages out of the desk's drawer then, carefully wrapping his arm and hiding them beneath his sleeve. Dark didn't want to know if his other arm looked similar.  
“Please don't do that again.”, Dark murmured, and Author shifted, shrugging lightly.  
“No promises.”, Author mumbled quietly.  
“At least try?”, Dark tried, and Author was quiet for a minute.  
“...I'll try.”.

Dark didn't tell anyone about it, and Author was grateful for it. At least he still attended dinner regularly with the others, though he was... very quiet. It wasn't like him at all, though Dark understood why now, so he didn't press it either.  
It was just a very stark contrast to how Author used to be. He used to be loud, boisterous, and much more social. The others thought it might be because he was used to being isolated in his cabin, and only coming here now and then -or someone going to him now and then. But whenever he was over, he still was more social than this.  
They didn't really get used to it, but Wilford had figured out Dark knew what was up, Edward had his suspicions, and King and the Jim speculated themselves what might have been wrong.

And then, a new ego appeared. Silver Sheperd, a superhero who was his own villain as well -a strange situation, but all of them were a little strange here and there, so who was there to judge? His wings were sleek, but quite big, the feathers always straight and well-groomed. They were a light grey, pretty much silver, a solid colour.  
When Edward had first found his way here, and Author met him for the first time, boy had that been a welcome Edward didn't forget. Author was loud, immediately swinging an arm around his shoulders and making him feel welcome.  
Now, as Silver was introduced , Author stayed back, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He just stayed back, not really wanting to be here at all. He greeted Silver when Wilford pulled the superhero over, though Author kept himself short. Silver also didn't really seem all that comfortable, though probably because of Author's bloody bandages.  
Excusing him after, Author left the room, going back to his library. Dark looked after him, a little... looking a little sad, perhaps? It was hard to describe, but he seemed a little sad about him leaving. Maybe it was because they all had hoped Author would be a little more like his old self.

Silver was very... worried, and perhaps confused, about the whole situation. Everyone told him it was fine, and Author was dealing with the trauma of losing his eyes, but Dark... seemed very concerned as well. He told Silver not to worry too much about it, though the hero couldn't help it. At least he had his work to do to take his mind off of Author -and he had to get used to this whole manor thing, and ego thing, and thing thing himself anyways.

Dark regularly checked in with Author. Most of the time, they weren't talking. Author tried to write, often practised reading, and just sometimes laid his head in his arms on his desk and just stayed there. Quiet, maybe passed out, maybe dozing. Dark didn't mind, he just spend some time being silent company for Author, working quietly on his laptop as to not feel useless himself, but still be there if Author wanted him.  
Author didn't, but, he did appreciate him being there. He didn't feel as alone having someone else with him, someone who didn't pity him or something. He used the times Dark was here to relax, try and let his mind empty, and not be bothered by his missing sight and inability to write.  
His migraine was also still there. It hadn't gotten better, getting worse again even. He wasn't happy about it, often feeling overly sensitive to pretty much everything. His head hurt, it was throbbing, and he often couldn't focus on anything besides the pain inside his head.

“I don't think this is working.”, Author muttered some time Dark was with him again. Dark looked up from his work, looking over at Author. His voice was muffled, because the blind man had his head in his arms.  
“What isn't working?”, Dark questioned, closing his laptop and turning more towards Author, watching the other man quietly.  
“Me. This person. He's not working.”, Author replied. He sounded frustrated, and perhaps a little in thought -it was a bit hard to pinpoint when Author didn't lift his head to actually talk with Dark.  
“Author. That doesn't work. It's my name, but he's not an author anymore.”, Author muttered, and Dark was getting a little confused by how Author was talking. Switching into third person seemed a little weird. Maybe he was changing. It wasn't weird, both Dark and Wilford had gone through changes themselves, but... it was strange, still. It always was.

“Okay.”, Dark replied, watching the other carefully. He watched as Author shifted so his face wasn't buried in his arms anymore, but laying on his arms, so he was understandable.  
“He's not the Author anymore. He's... different.”, Author murmured. He was still getting used to speaking differently, but since he's started trying it a few days ago while speaking to himself, his migraine got better. It was like it was its own thing, thinking and feeling, and it wanted something from Author.  
His whole _thinking_ was changing, though he wasn't that aware of it. It's started since he's woken up in the clinic, and thus Author wasn't aware of how he had changed.  
“How have... has he changed?”, Dark asked, paying full attention to Author, and trying to see how he was supposed to address Author now.  
“The Author... doesn't think he's the Author anymore.”, Author said, though he sounded like he was thinking. “He's... someone else. Not... I'm not sure.”.  
“That's alright.”, Dark said softly, standing up and walking over to Author, gently laying a hand on Author's shoulder. Author tensed at the touch, before he relaxed again slowly.

“It's hard.”, Author complained, and Dark chuckled lightly.  
“Of course it is. But we're all here for you.”, Dark replied softly, hoping he could give some comfort to him. It was all about self-discovery, and Dark knew that took time. Wilford used to switch through appearances and names, and sometimes he changed his whole personality as well. It was hard, but Wilford had stuck to this for a few years now, and they all were glad for it. Dark would love him no matter how much more Wilford was going to change.  
“Thank you.”, Author murmured. He was glad that he could be here, that he had someone to look out for him. His cabin had always been very lonely, though he really didn't mind that. What he more minded was being alone with pain and injury.

It didn't happen a lot, that he got that hurt he needed help from someone else. It rarely happened that he got hurt enough he wasn't able to fly to the manor either. But it happened, he got hurt, and he was alone. Sometimes he couldn't take care of himself, but he was on his own, because he couldn't get to the manor. If he was too sick to fly at all, or walk for so many hours to the manor; then he had to take care of himself without anyone knowing.  
It was rare one of the egos came to visit him randomly. Usually they talked about coming over when one was at the other's place. When Author was at the manor, or one of them was over at the cabin. Author didn't like random visits all too much, though It really didn't happen a lot. At most, King came over, for some reason or other, usually involving squirrels. His wings always close to his back, never using them that much. They weren't huge, just big enough to carry him, and matched the colours of his squirrels. On the outside a dirty, almost grey, brown, and the insides a dirty white or beige colour.

Being here now, going through this... He wasn't sure how well he would do on his own. He wasn't sure how well he could take care of his ever bleeding eyesockets, how well he could handle changing his speak, how well he would handle changing his name.  
He didn't have to go through this alone, and that was really new to him, but he was really appreciative.

After Dark left, Author decided he should go to Edward. His bandages were completely soaked now, and he hadn't been in the clinic the whole day, and Edward wanted to look at it daily. As well as make sure his bandages were tied properly -which, most of the time, they weren't. Because Author was rather sloppy with it.  
As he walked -using his baseball bat as a sort of cane, though he was okay at getting around without it- he quietly mumbled to himself. He usually thought out loud anyways, but now he was getting used to talking in third person. And the more he did, the more comfortable he felt with it, and the lesser his headache got.  
When he arrived in the clinic, he lightly knocked, before entering. Also so untypical for Author, _to knock,_ but he didn't notice it anymore.

“Hey Author.”, Edward greeted, and Author hummed lightly, walking over to sit down at Edward's desk.  
“The... I'm not sure about being called Author anymore.”, Author told Edward, who was already getting bandages and the rest of the things he needed. He was used to padding the bandages thickly so they lasted for a whole day without bleeding through.  
“Hm?”, Edward looked over to Author, before registering what he said. “Ah, that's no problem. What would you like to be called now?”, he asked, walking back over to the desk and gently turning Author's chair so he could get to work.  
“The Author isn't sure.”, Author replied, though saying his name felt wrong. It send a sharp pain through his sockets.  
“That's alright as well. I'm sure you'll figure it out.”, Edward said softly, as he unwrapped the bandages to throw them away. He began to gently clean Author's face, and Author quietly narrated what was happening. It felt... natural. To say what Edward was doing. He could feel what he did, so it wasn't impossible. Though he also correctly murmured about what Edward grabbed next and such.

“The story of your life.”, Edward commented, confusing Author, who furrowed his brows.  
“What does Edward mean?”  
“You're narrating what's happening. Which is, basically, your life. So you're narrating your life.”, Edward explained, chuckling lightly. “How about The Narrator?”, he suggested.  
Author scrunched up his nose at the suggestion. He supposed Edward was right though, he _was_ narrating what was happening. But... The Narrator sounded _wrong_. He felt like he... needed a new profession. Like writing, but... with speech. Perhaps he could tell stories. But, how would he get spoken stories to people?  
“Perhaps you should make a podcast.”, Edward said, making Author realize he had been thinking out loud.  
“A podcast.”, Author wasn't sure about it. Edward put some soothing lotion on the irritated skin around Author's eyes -was he scratching at them still?- before starting to wrap them back up again.  
“Maybe ask Wilford for ideas. He has a TV show, maybe something similar would be good.”, Edward said then, and Author hummed lightly, thinking. It was an idea.  
“Thank you.”, he said, and Edward chuckled lightly.  
“Of course.”.

Once they were done, Author made his way to Wilford's studio then. It wasn't much of a studio yet, since he didn't do too much just yet. More would surely come, and who knew what kind of egos may join in the future. The Jims used the studio as well, after all, and if more joined it'd be too small and not well enough equipped.  
Author was wondering what he may be able to do. A podcast didn't seem like something he wanted to do, but something similar. Something he could tell stories with.

When he arrived at the studio, he could already hear Wilford talking loudly and animately -Wilford always had grand gestures and a boisterous voice- and Author was pretty sure he could hear the Jims as well. He just made way to go over to them, and of course, Wilford noticed him pretty much immediately.  
“Authy!”, Wilford's wings fluffed up of course, flaring a little bit, before settling back on his back. They were expressive like the man himself. The short feathers were all a light pink in colour, though their tips were fading into a dark beige colour. The long feathers were striped dark beige and brown, though their tips were all pink, the pink colour going up the side of the feathers -the strip going from the tip thickly and being less than a quarter thick at the top. It made them look mostly pink, unless they were flared and each feather was visible.  
“Don't call me that.”, Author replied, crossing his arms. He didn't like these weird nicknames Wilford liked to give him -and everyone else.  
Wilford chuckled lightly, smiling and wings ruffling. “Alrighty! What can ole Wilfy do for you?”, he asked with a smile. Author typically wanted something when he came here after all.

“The Author... searches for something new to do, since he can't write anymore.”, Author said, fully aware of Jim filming him. He wondered where the other one was, usually they were always together. “Something where he still can tell stories.”.  
“Oh-ho! Something new to do for out story teller.”, Wilford hummed, stroking his moustache as he thought. What could Author do that would let him allow to tell stories?  
“Would you be interested in a show, perhaps? Air late at night, perfect for creepy jeepys that you do.”, Wilford suggested, and Author scrunched up his nose. He didn't think television was the right media either.  
“Author doesn't believe he would enjoy that.”, Author replied, shaking his head. He had always preferred his anonymity, so he didn't want a TV show. And who wanted to watch a man tell stories anyways?  
“Worth a try!”, Wilford giggled, and Author rolled his eyes. Not that he could, technically, but it was a motion of his head everyone could tell was meant to be an eye-roll.

Author shook his head, and made to leave again. He didn't want to bother and talk with Wilford anymore, it would just give him a headache in the end. And perhaps it'd lead to him being roped into something he didn't want to do.  
“Blind Jim!”, so there was the other Jim, Author thought, as he stopped walking right before he went out of the door.  
“Hello, Jim.”, Author greeted, hearing the other Jim walking up to them, filming as always, wings fluttering in excitement. The Jims' wings were both the same -as expected from twins. They were mostly white, but were heavily spotted with red-ish brown spots, and the primary flight feathers were a darker colour, like a muddy brown-ish grey.  
“What is blind Jim doing here?”, Jim asked, holding the microphone close to Author's face, making him push it away, uncomfortable.  
“The Author was searching for a new profession, as he cannot write anymore, but wants to tell stories still.”, Author replied, because maybe the Jims had an idea on what he could do.

“Reporters tell stories! Reporter Jim!”, Jim bounced in place, wings flapping in excitement, and Author sighed.  
“The Author is not a reporter.”, he replied, though he appreciated Jim's enthusiasm. At least everyone was _trying_, but no one was really... succeeding. Maybe he could go ask Dark, perhaps he had an idea on what he could do.  
As Author tried to leave, the Jims tried to follow. But, thankfully, Wilford stopped them, because he was calling them back. Seemed like he hadn't been talking with them over whatever they had been talking about. Author took it as his opportunity to leave the room.

Author sighed heavily, rubbing his bandages, as he walked back through the manor. Nothing seemed right. A podcast was the closest to what he wanted, but still not quite there. He wasn't meant for TV, like a show moderator or a reporter. But what else was there he could possibly do?  
Surprisingly, he ran into Silver. Well, he didn't run into him, but the superhero almost did, and both took a startled step backwards away from each other.  
“Oh- uhm. Hello, Author.”, Silver said, fiddling with his gloves. They hadn't really interacted much since Silver came here the first time, though the hero appreciated having a home here among the others.  
“Author greets Silver.”, Author replied, crossing his arms lightly again. Maybe Silver could suggest something that wasn't something he didn't want to do.  
“The Author wonders if Silver may have an idea.”, he said, getting Silver's attention. “He's searching for a new occupation. Since he cannot write anymore, and thus, cannot be an author anymore. But, he still wants to tell stories.”.  
“Oh.”, Silver nodded lightly. It was quiet for a moment, as Silver thought. “Have- you thought of radio maybe? I'm not sure if we can do that here, but if Wilford can have a studio, you might be able to get a radio station somehow, though I wouldn't know, I don't have a lot of experience with such things.”, Silver was rambling a little, though Author had tuned out after the first sentence anyways.

Radio. That was a good idea, actually. He could tell his stories, and no one would know who he was, where he was, what he looked like. They would only know his voice, and what he was saying. The idea grew closer to him the more he thought about it.  
“Thank you.”, Author said, which surprised Silver, making him shut up from his rambling. “Author likes the idea, and will definitely check it out. So, he thanks Silver, but now, he has things to do.”.  
“Oh- yeah. Sure. No problem!”, Silver replied, looking after Author as he walked away, a little confused. But, he had helped? Probably?

Author was already thinking about it. His own radio show. Perhaps, he'd enjoy that, and find his new purpose. Perhaps he'd find his new name with it as well. But for now, he needed to find equipment, and figure out how it worked, and everything. Maybe he could use his writing still. He hadn't really tried altering reality since trying to write, at least nothing he would immediately know.  
So he made his way back to his library. He'd need a new room so he could do it too, though he would have to ask Dark for help with that. He didn't want to go to the studio for it, surrounded by loud egos, so hyper and energetic and unlike him.

Writing, sadly, didn't seem to want to work, though. So, Author brought it up during dinner, because he could wait some more, and he needed help from the others. And, he was too lazy to walk everywhere again to ask everyone.

The Jims were happy to provide equipment, while Dark would give him another room for his radio show, and Wilford would be making sure he had a station to broadcast on.  
Author probably never had felt so welcomed and helped. Maybe because he rarely was here and asked for help, or because he's never been the most social of people. He never liked to ask for help, but he had really needed it this time, and he appreciated it greatly that everyone was so eager to help him.

Dark managed to have a second room connected to the library, which the Jims equipped with the necessary things Author would need, and showing him how everything worked. Upon request, they got him the old TVs from his cabin, which just showed static. It helped him clear his head, he told them, and they didn't question too much more.  
Wilford organised him a station to broadcast on, something late in the night no other spot had taken. Author was grateful for it, not minding how late it was. He appreciated that it was late, mostly because he didn't think the stories he would tell were suitable for early morning anyways.  
He was excited for the first broadcast, truthfully. He could record everything while he was on air, so he could save everything, which was very good. He didn't want to lose anything, never had wanted such.

Getting cold the later it got, Author pulled on a coat. He had a variety of clothes anyways, though mostly he wore the same things. It was merely because of comfort, and he wasn't really too interested in picking different things.  
Feeling warm and protected, he settled in his chair. He already felt good, a smirk crawling on his lips, as he set everything up. It was dark in the room, except for the static TVs he had turned on, the quiet sound filling his head. He could still hear it when he pulled on his headphones, pulling his microphone close with a smirk.  
“Welcome, listeners from around the plane of existence.”, he started, and already he felt comfortable, _whole._ “Close your eyes. Lean back. Let the words of your host wash over you, like a gentle blanket over your mind.”.  
He felt comfortable, like _this_ was what he was meant to do. To be a host. It sounded _right_, he was drawn to it, The Host. It was _him_.

He happily talked for hours. Telling a story about some random person to use as his character. Only once he was done, and the night came to an end, did he stop. His voice was a little sore, but he didn't care in the slightest. He felt good, he felt happy, and he felt fulfilled.  
The Host. It was him. He wasn't the Author anymore, but the Host, and he felt comfortable. Blood was staining his cheeks, it had soaked through his bandages, but he didn't much care. He felt comfortable.

Leaving his little radio room, he knew the sun would be rising soon. He didn't much care, he wasn't a big breakfast person anyways. He was tired though, since he had been awake for really long. So, he made his way to his room, just wanting to collapse in bed and sleep. He was exhausted, his mind running on auto-pilot. He was still mumbling to himself, narrating life as he had done for most of the day.  
He didn't even notice it. How he used his words as replacement for his sight. It was just what he was doing, after hours of talking not yet tired of it. Though, if he were made aware of it, he might stop. His throat did feel a little sore after all.  
He felt something. A tingle in the back of his mind, a throb of a headache. Something didn't feel right, but he supposed it was just the exhaustion hurting his brain.

He collapsed to his knees, breath stuck in his throat, hands burying in his hair and pulling. His head throbbed, blood dripped from his cheeks, as images flashed in his mind.

Colours, feelings, garbled voices, it all mixed inside his head and he didn't understand anything that he was seeing, hearing, feeling.

“Author- Author talk to me.”, the voice of Edward reached his ears. He was curled up tightly on the ground, forehead on the floor as his hands pulled on his hair. His breathing was heavy, and the blood hot on his skin. Edward's hand was on Host's back.  
“E-edward.”, Host's grip on his hair loosened, and Edward sighed in relief, gently taking them out, before rubbing Host's back again.  
“Good. You scared me.”, Edward said quietly, and Author slowly moved to sit up, back protesting. His throat was hurting badly.  
“What-... Host is confused.”, Host said softly, and Edward looked at him in confusion, before nodding lightly.  
“Ah, well. You screamed bloody murder, and I was already awake, so I hurried over. I found you here on the ground, screaming and almost pulling your hair out.”  
Host nodded lightly. He was trembling, he felt light-headed and dizzy. He had lost a lot of blood again.

“Come on, I'll clean you up and you can tell me if you want.”, Edward said softly, and Host nodded lightly. Edward helped him up, and kept an arm around Host's middle as he helped him walk out from the library.  
Dark had been attracted by the screaming as well, looking worried seeing Host being pale and covered in blood again.  
“He's fine.”, Edward said softly, though Dark decided to help and go with them. Host didn't really mind, he was just glad someone was there to help him after something happening so suddenly.

Edward and Dark carried Host to the clinic, Edward's wings fluttering slightly when he sat Host down on the examination table, the blind man hunched over as he did.  
“You lost so much blood again.”, Edward muttered, injecting a clotting agent into Host, waiting for a few minutes, before getting to clean his face and change his bandages again.  
“What happened?”, Dark asked, as Edward went and gathered everything he needed.  
“I found him curled up on the ground screaming.”, Edward replied, shrugging lightly. “I don't know more.”.  
“Author?”, Dark asked, and Host scrunched up his nose lightly.  
“Host.”, he replied quietly. “The Host... isn't sure what happened. He just... collapsed, and was... unaware, of his surroundings.”.  
Dark nodded lightly in reply, humming in thought. Interesting. “What were you experiencing then?”.  
“The Host... saw flashes... he isn't sure.”, Host wasn't sure what had happened. He was barely able to stay conscious now, he was shaking, he felt cold, and he was really tired.

“It's fine Host.”, Edward said softly, gently wiping Host's face clean. Host just gave a soft hum as acknowledgement.  
Dark still looked a little concerned, though he couldn't really help either. Instead he gently rubbed Host's back, letting Host lean against him lightly.  
Edward wound fresh bandages around Host's head, making sure they were nice and thick. He was glad Host had found his new name, that he felt comfortable now. It was good, after all this time Author had struggled. Hopefully, his feathers would regrow soon as well. Edward hadn't known Author for that terribly long, but he still was aware what big of a change this was.  
Host did pass out in the end, Edward smiling lightly. “He was up the whole night.”, he said, as Dark helped him bring Host to a bed to sleep.  
“He seemed to really like broadcasting.”, Dark hummed. Both of them had tuned in before they were in bed, though Edward had been awake again before Host had stopped his show either. He hadn't slept well, and thought to tune in again.

“It's good he's found himself.”, Dark said lightly, watching as Edward made sure Host would be able to sleep comfortably.  
“It is. Host. Interesting, isn't it?”, Edward chuckled lightly, and turned to leave, Dark following along. It was time for breakfast, and big cups of coffee.  
“Interesting indeed. We'll see how it develops.”, Dark agreed, nodding lightly.

When Host finally molted, and fresh feathers grew, where they once had been just halfway a dark brown, they were now a quarter dipped in gold as well. Host's wings had suffered from months of not using them, and not really exercising them, so they stayed folded on his back, the tips dragging a little over the ground.

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS SO LONG  
I'VE WRITTEN AT THIS FOR FOREVER  
LIKE, A WHOLE WEEK AT LEAST  
this is a MONSTER


End file.
